


Inside

by Rosehip



Series: Strange Luck [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-30
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-28 07:51:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7631431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosehip/pseuds/Rosehip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Macsen Surana has been brought to the tower. He is alone, sad, and surrounded by humans.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Inside

Macsen buried his face into the pillow of the warm, soft bed he'd been given. He pulled the covers up over his head, making a dark cave of all that fabric. The breath and whispers of all the other children around him rustled almost like the leaves he was used to.  
  
If he stayed like this, buried in the dark, maybe he could forget that they were all shemlen. Maybe he could let the night into his mind. Maybe the dark could push out his memories so he could stop crying.  
  
_The giant, metal shem stood over Mamae, red dripping off his sword in the rain. Macsen called for her, but she wouldn't move. He shrieked, and felt the storm rush through his hands. The shem turned his faceless head to look at Macsen, the lightning dancing across his metal body..._  
  
_Macsen screamed._  
  
“Will somebody shut that kid up? I have a test tomorrow.”  
  
“Lay off, willya? He's a just a tiny.”  
  
“I know. So why is he in with us?”  
  
“Will you all shut up? He'll cry himself out eventually.”  
  
“Doubtful. I heard Ser Ethan saying he didn't stop the whole way back here.”  
  
A quieter voice: “I would cry around Ethan, too.”  
  
“Just hush. There's nothing we can do, I tried to be nice earlier. He's afraid of everybody.”  
  
A new voice, nearer by: “Is that true, little man?” a hand rested on Macsen's shoulder through the blankets. “I bet it's not. I bet it's just humans, isn't it?”  
  
Macsen shook uncontrollably. Mamae warned him to stay away from shemlen. She said they'd hurt him, maybe steal him. But what could he do now that he'd been stolen?  
  
That same voice again: “I won't hurt you. I'm just a kid, too. Will you look at me?”  
  
Macsen decided there was nothing else for it. He lowered the blankets and breathed the cool air for a moment, his eyes still shut. Slowly, he opened them.  
  
An older boy with messy black hair knelt by his bed. He wore a solemn expression, and held out a handkerchief.  
  
Macsen's throat and face ached, his breath still came out in ragged, choking gasps, as it often did, now. “Wha-a-a ah! What d-d-”  
  
“Whoa, little guy. Just breathe. Nod if I can sit on your bed, all right?”  
  
Macsen stared, snot running all over his pillow, tears streaming down his face.  
  
“You can shake your head no, too, if you want.”  
  
He could say no? That made it better, somehow. Macsen nodded.  
  
“Thank you.” The older, shemlen boy sat on the edge, not touching Macsen beyond the hand on shoulder he'd started with. “Can I help wipe off your face? Or you can do it if you want.” He gestured with the hankie.  
  
Macsen didn't want the boy touching him more than he already was, even though he had a kind voice. He stretched out his hand to take the cloth. Something strange flickered across the boy's face, like he'd bitten something sour. Macsen sat up and blew his nose, He tried to breathe the way Mamae had taught him. In slow for a count of four, hold, out for a count of four...  
  
“Thank you,” said the shemlen boy.  
  
Macsen looked up, confused. There was a red haired girl, older than either of them, standing with a pitcher of water. She poured some into a mug, which the boy offered to Macsen. He hadn't realized how thirsty he was. He gulped it, noisily.  
  
“I'm Jowan,” said the boy. “She's Petra. You can trust us, all right? We won't do anything bad to you. More water?”  
  
Macsen nodded, and she refilled it for him. She backed away after, as he drank it.  
  
“Did the metal shemlen steal you, too?” whispered Macsen, unable to raise his voice to anything louder. He sniffled.  
  
Jowan cocked his head at Macsen. “The metal- oh. The Templars? Well, not really. My parents gave me to them, a couple years ago.”  
  
Years?! Macsen felt the panic well up in him all over again. A wail erupted from his throat. Was there no escape, then?  
  
“Good going, genius,” said another boy off in the corner.  
  
“Shut up, Syd. Nobody needs your stupid face right now.”  
  
“Oooooh, nice put down. I'll remember that one.”  
  
“You can't remember anything but how to annoy the girls.”  
  
“Seriously, Jowan, quit while you're ahead.” But he rolled over, his back to them all, and piled the pillows on top of his head.  
  
Macsen didn't think he'd ever be happy again. It felt like his heart was full of knots. One of the shemlen had tried to keep him from knowing, but Mamae had gone to the Beyond. He wanted to go, too. He dropped the cup he had forgotten he had been holding. Jowan caught it. Macsen buried his face in his arms.  
  
Almost everyone went back to bed, one by one. Macsen tried to keep quiet. He didn't want anyone mad at him. The shem- Templars had been mad at him the whole time. They'd kept his hands tied, and made him walk forever, getting angrier when he tired. The slightly less angry one had eventually put him in a backpack, and given him drinks that made him sleepy. He didn't understand why they even wanted him if they disliked him so much.  
  
After a while, Jowan spoke again. “I had brothers and sisters back home. I was the oldest. I miss them.”  
  
Macsen looked up. “Did they... did they cut your family with swords like my Mamae?”  
  
Dozens of beds creaked as almost everyone sat up, startled. A whispered chorus of “Wait, what?!” “Did the elf say...?” “They didn't!” “In front of him?” and other exclamations echoed around the room. Eventually one word cropped up among the murmurs more often than others: “maleficar”.  
  
Jowan merely sat there, open mouthed, for a moment. Eventually he shut it with an audible snap and said “I don't know what to say. I'm sorry for your loss.” Macsen could see tears starting in the older boy's eyes, as well.  
  
Something snapped in Macsen's heart. The thought that he might be alone in this place, utterly, had threatened to crush him. Maybe he wouldn't have to be. He would grasp at any straw. He flung himself into Jowan and wrapped his arms around the boy's neck. Jowan's arms closed around him, ever so gently, as though he were afraid to break the younger child. “Do you think you can sleep now?” asked Jowan.  
  
“Will you stay with me?” Macsen sniffled.  
  
“All right. I won't go anywhere.”  
  
“Well, Jowan's going to fail that test, tomorrow,” came one of the earlier voices.  
  
“I was anyway,” said Jowan.  
  
“We're all going to fail that test tomorrow,” said another. “But I feel like an ass for caring. Goodnight everybody.”  
  
The outgoing mail the following day overflowed with letters home.


End file.
